


Ricochet

by sandwastesinthevoidofmychest



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Comfort, Eventual Smut, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, Greg is here to make things better, M/M, Myc was held hostage, Mycroft Feels, POV Mycroft Holmes, Protective Greg, Tenderness, Vulnerable Mycroft, the E rating applies to the second chapter, they both have feelings for each other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-29
Updated: 2018-12-02
Packaged: 2019-07-20 08:27:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16133477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sandwastesinthevoidofmychest/pseuds/sandwastesinthevoidofmychest
Summary: Mycroft returns home after being involved in a hostage situation, dreading the prospect of his empty house.When Greg appears, Mycroft realises that this man has always been there for him, and that it's about time to act on their feelings.A whole lot of tenderness, a whole lot of love.





	1. One

When Mycroft’s car drops him outside the driveway of his house, Mycroft almost feels as though it is too much to move. 

After the last 48 hours he is heavy and empty. 

He manages to muster up some semblance of strength and moves his body. The slam of the car door is almost painful. 

He focuses on putting one foot in front of the other, something so basic and automatic, but right now is challenging. 

The driveway is pitch black; his house is in darkness too. The emptiness in his chest is somewhat intensified by the sudden stab of loneliness that rains over him. 

He sighs, searching for his keys in his coat. He pauses when he hears the crunch of gravel. 

 

It’s a few metres ahead of him. He feels his heart sink. His grip tightens on his umbrella but a very large part of him knows he’s not capable of defending himself right now.

He didn’t think anyone could get to him here, but he is resigned to his fate. 

If they’re going to murder him, they might as well do it in one of the only places he felt safe. 

“Just bloody get it over with, won’t you?” His voice breaks the heavy silence, he sounds scared, which he resents himself for.

There’s another crunch of gravel, this time the footsteps are more pronounced, he can see the outline of someone coming towards him. 

Mycroft closes his eyes, wondering how they’ll do it. He hopes it’ll be quick, painless. 

“Hey, hey, Mycroft.” The familiar voice startles him. “S’okay, just me. Greg.”

Mycroft opens his eyes almost hesitantly. His eyes strain to see in the darkness, but Greg is only inches away from him, holding his hands up as if to illustrate that he is harmless. 

 

Mycroft blinks, confusion written across his face. 

“Gregory?” Mycroft’s voice cracks, some relief eases the tension in his shoulders, but he is still wary. Why would Greg be here?

Greg smiles reassuringly, his hands still up in front of him. “Right here.” 

“H-how?” Greg slowly lowers his hands, shrugging. 

“Anthea gave me security clearance, and the code for your gate, uh, I hope that’s alright?”

“I see.” Mycroft murmurs, expression inscrutable. 

Greg’s smile falters, his eyes are fixed on Mycroft’s. There’s questions in them, but Mycroft doesn’t quite want to explain just yet. 

“Your porch light isn’t working, I didn’t mean to come at you out of the darkness like that. Bad form there. I’m sorry.” 

Mycroft glances around, his eyes playing tricks on him; everything is shadows and he can feel the panic start to pool in his chest again. 

He jumps back when he feels a hand on his arm, realising a millisecond too late that it’s only Greg. 

“Sorry, Mycroft, I didn’t think-“

“Let’s go inside.” Mycroft glances towards the front door, longing to be inside and lock the doors against the world outside. “Please.” 

 

Greg must hear the panic raising its head again in Mycroft’s voice, because he merely nods and puts a small distance between him and Mycroft, following him towards the front door in silence.

Mycroft’s hand shakes so badly as he tries to unlock the door, that Greg carefully coaxes the keys from him, allowing Mycroft to gesture which key fits which lock.

Greg doesn’t comment on the plethora of locks. Five in all. 

Mycroft shakily types in the code to disarm the alarm. Greg stands beside him in silence, hands buried in the pockets of his long coat.

When Mycroft turns the locks on the inside of the door, shutting everything out, he can hear Greg’s steady breath. He doesn’t question it, Mycroft is eternally grateful. 

 

“Here-“ Greg says softly, “Let me help.” His gentle touch brings tears to Mycroft’s eyes. He helps Mycroft out of his coat in silence, there’s no pressure for them to talk. It’s refreshing. 

Mycroft closes his eyes, the tears sting but they do not fall. Greg’s hands are light on Mycroft’s shoulders and arms, not overwhelming, but comfortable. 

“When did you last eat?” Greg asks softly as he hangs both their coats on the stand by the front door. 

Mycroft stares at him in bewilderment. “Why on earth are you here, Gregory?”

Greg turns around gives him a friendly smile, “I thought you could do with some company, a friend.”

“I don’t need your pity.” The words fall out before he can stop them, harsh and bitter. 

Greg nods calmly, “I can leave, if you want me to.” There’s only kindness in his eyes and it makes Mycroft’s heart ache all over again.

“Why are you being kind to me?” It’s barely a whisper, his voice betraying him.

Greg comes closer to him, placing his hand on Mycroft’s forearm, the touch is so light it’s barely there. “Because I’m your friend. You’ve just had two days of utter hell if the reports I’ve been seeing are true. You don’t need to be alone now.”

“I always am.” Another whispered confession. Had he ever been this vulnerable before?

“You don’t have to be.” Greg says the words with a certain force, and Mycroft can hear something beneath the words, he makes eye contact with Greg. 

He’s drawn into the chocolate brown, the sincerity in his eyes, the kindness. 

Greg holds his gaze evenly. “You never have to be.” His voice is lower now, he reaches out and lightly squeezes Mycroft’s forearm.

 

“Did you get to see a doctor?” Greg’s eyes are so gentle that Mycroft wants to melt into them. He shakes his head no. 

Greg’s kind smile falters, concern showing through. 

He’s always been here, Mycroft thinks, he’s always here when something isn’t right. 

How has Mycroft not realised?

In front of him is the only other person bar Anthea that has seen him with his walls down; seen him vulnerable. 

He’s the only person he can be more himself with. 

These epiphanies crash down around him and Mycroft can’t help but wonder if the man he has longed for for six years...wants him too. 

“Myc?” Greg’s voice breaks through the haze in his mind; too much is happening in there, he doesn’t realise that Greg had already asked him a question. 

“Do you need a Doctor?” Greg asks again, “‘Cause we could give John a call.” 

Greg must see the deer in the headlights look that Mycroft is sure is all over his face, because he holds up his hands almost in a surrender, before gently placing them on Mycroft’s shoulders. Mycroft finds he has to remind himself to breathe. 

  


“My first aid knowledge wouldn’t be the best, but you’re sure there’s nothing broken?” 

Mycroft only nods, “Cuts and bruises mostly.” 

Greg’s eyes meet his again and Mycroft thinks he can see some distress there. Greg carefully caresses Mycroft’s cheek with one of his hands, and his touch is so warm it almost burns. Mycroft hadn’t realised he was so cold. 

“Let’s run you a hot bath.” Greg murmurs, his thumb slowly stroking. “Do you have a first aid kit that I could use?” 

Mycroft looks at him curiously.

Greg only smiles again, “Let me take care of you.” There’s something in the way that Greg’s voice cracks on the last words that sends shivers up Mycroft’s spine. He finds he can only nod. 

  


“Bedroom?” The word sets off a series of scenarios in Mycroft’s mind, a blush warming his cheeks. If Greg notices, he kindly doesn’t say anything. 

Greg notices.

Mycroft leads the way up to his bedroom. It’s minimal, all clean lines and neatness, it looks almost empty. 

“Get yourself some pyjamas.” Greg murmurs, “and the first aid kit?” 

Mycroft nods towards the ensuite, “Under the sink.” 

“Gotcha.” Greg heads towards the bathroom and a few seconds later Mycroft can hear the water running. 

He takes off his suit jacket, letting it fall to the ground, not treated like his usual. The suit and shirt he’s wearing can burn for all he cares. 

He glances down at his white shirt, well what had been white. It’s dirty, there are bloodstains. 

He catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror and almost doesn’t recognise himself. 

  


“Water’s ready when you are!” Greg’s voice carries from the other room and Mycroft takes an uneasy breath, picking out a pair of silk pyjamas. 

When he gets into the bathroom, Greg has taken off his jacket and rolled up his sleeves. The first aid kit is open and waiting on the counter. 

He sees Greg stare at his shirt, a look of utter sadness crosses his face and the sheer emotion in the expression takes Mycroft off-guard. 

  


“Let’s get you sorted then, yeah?” 

Mycroft nods, his heart thumping in his chest. He reaches for his shirt buttons, immediately beginning to struggle, his hands shaking erratically. 

Greg moves across the distance between them, he puts his hands around Mycroft’s, waiting in silence until he can feel less of a tremor. 

“Let me.” He whispers, those chocolate eyes glancing into his own, making sure that this is alright. 

Mycroft just nods, dropping his arms to his sides. 

Greg’s hands move slow and sure, exposing Mycroft’s skin inch by inch. 

“I didn’t want it to happen like this.” Mycroft’s own voice shocks him; he was not meant to say that out loud. 

Greg’s hands pause on the third last button of Mycroft’s shirt, when he glances up to meet Mycroft’s eyes once again, there’s a certain sadness in his eyes. 

“Me neither, love.” 

Mycroft mouth falls open in surprise at the unexpected endearment and Greg laughs nervously. 

“Been on the verge of calling you that for years, y’know.” 

Mycroft hesitates, then raises a hand to caress Greg’s cheek. 

They meet gazes and something between them shifts, the atmosphere in the room changes. 

“The water’ll get cold.” Greg’s voice is low and Mycroft only nods. 

“I haven’t been…” Mycroft struggles to find the words, cheeks burning. He hasn’t been unclothed with another person for years. The idea that Greg is going to see him now for the first time is far from arousing. 

It’s terrifying to be honest. Greg’s hands are by his stomach and Mycroft’s gut turns unevenly, his body is full of scars and reminders of his past and present. 

He’s always been disgusted with his body, and now that Greg is here, he can feel the panic rise above the dull ache that runs through him. 

“Don’t worry, Myc.” Greg’s voice is gentle, comforting. Mycroft can feel it wrap around him. Greg slides the shirt from his shoulders onto the floor. 

The expression of distress returns to Greg’s eyes as he takes in Mycroft’s bare skin. 

“You sure you don’t need a doctor, love?”

There it is again, it almost takes Mycroft’s breath away. 

He shakes his head, “Mainly surface injuries.” 

Greg watches him carefully for a minute, “You’re positive?” 

Mycroft nods, taking a deep breath, he can feel Greg’s warm fingers at his hips and he waits for the inevitable. 

 

“This alright?” 

Mycroft nods shyly, feeling Greg’s hands open his belt. He closes his eyes, wishing that he wasn’t bloody and scarred, that he wasn’t petrified of being naked in front of the man he’s loved for six years. 

Mycroft takes another shaky breath as Greg helps him out of his trousers. Greg smiles reassuringly at him, allowing him to remove his underwear by himself. 

Greg kneels down beside the bath and dips his hand into the water. 

“Water is nice and warm.” 

Mycroft feels awkward, naked before Greg until he gets into the bath, the suds covering his lower half. Greg senses Mycroft’s discomfort and places a warm hand on Mycroft’s arm. 

“You’re gorgeous Myc.” His voice is almost a whisper and he waits until Mycroft makes eye contact to show him the pure honesty in his eyes. It takes Mycroft’s breath away. 

  


Greg slowly gets to his feet, knees cracking, the sound loud in the quiet bathroom. He shakes his head, chuckling. “Not getting any younger.” 

This coaxes a smile from Mycroft. 

Greg picks up the sponge from the corner of the bath and runs it under the hot water before squeezing out a liberal amount of shower gel. “I’ll start with your back, alright?” 

Mycroft can only nod. 

He takes a sharp inhale of breath as the sponge touches his back. Greg is sitting on the edge of the bath. His movements are slow and Mycroft can sense that there is something that needs to be said. 

“There’s-“ Greg’s voice is strained, “A lot.” 

Mycroft lowers his head, certain no one has ever touched him as gently as this. He closes his eyes. “Mmhm. They were not afraid to lash out it seems.”

Greg is silent, Mycroft can’t see his expression. He hisses when Greg washes over what’s probably a very large bruise, his skin tender and aching. 

“Sorry, love.” Greg runs a hand through Mycroft’s hair, fingers soothing.

The silence between them is easy, and Greg places a hand gently on Mycroft’s shoulder. “Put your head back, just want to rinse your hair.” 

Mycroft does as he’s told, the feel of Greg’s fingers against his scalp ignites something deep within him, and he thinks of scenarios where Greg’s fingers could be in his hair, and he closes his eyes in an attempt to keep himself calm. 

Greg moves, ready to focus on Mycroft’s chest and arms. 

Mycroft watches the other man as he takes in the scattered cuts across his chest, the bruising at his ribs. The despair in Greg’s eyes turns quickly to distress. He reaches out a hand, brushing his fingertips above Mycroft’s heart. 

“You were shot, jesus Myc.” 

Greg’s fingers trace the raised scar on his chest, it’s large and unsightly, the skin puckered all around it from the shrapnel that had also needed to be removed. 

“Twenty years ago.” Mycroft murmurs, he looks up at Greg who has tears in his eyes. “Thankfully I no longer partake in fieldwork.” Mycroft tries to sound somewhat cheerier, and attempt to make Greg smile again. “I’ve my fair share of scars from my time as an agent. But it’s different now.”

Greg watches him carefully, “Until the last two days.”

 

The silence is uneasy, “I hadn’t bargained for getting abducted.” 

“Of course, who would?” Greg glances down at the various faded scars on Mycroft’s chest and stomach, “When I heard-“ he pauses, taking a shaking breath, all too aware the emotion is showing in his voice. “-When I got word that they’d stormed Downing Street and shot the Prime Minister and had you hostage…god Myc, I almost died on the spot.” Greg caresses Mycroft’s face, “I’m so glad you’re alright.” He whispers. 

Mycroft leans in to Greg’s touch, “As am I.” Mycroft smiles, “Largely thanks to you being here.”

Greg grins at him, “You never need to ask me. If you need me, I’ll be here. Promise.”

Mycroft can’t fight against the waves of emotion that crash over him; he wants to lean forward a little more, into Greg’s warmth, press against his lips, but Greg speaks softly. 

“Should probably finish off here, you’ll go all pruned up. The water is getting cool too.” 

Mycroft can only nod in agreement, inhaling sharply as Greg washes away the clotted blood on his chest. 

 

Greg holds out a large bath towel for Mycroft to wrap himself up in. 

“Some arnica might help with the bruising. Then some antiseptic for the grazes, best to be safe than sorry, that alright love?” Greg’s back is turned as he examines the contents of Mycroft’s first aid kit. 

This gives Mycroft the privacy to dry himself and Mycroft can’t help but wonder at the sheer kindness that Greg is showing him, it is unlike anything he could ever have imagined. 

Once Mycroft has changed into his pyjama bottoms, Greg gestures for him to sit on the edge of the bath. Mycroft is all too aware of how he is shirtless, how his stomach looks when he sits. 

Greg runs his fingers through Mycroft’s hair, he looks besotted and Mycroft can’t help but shiver at the gentle touch against his scalp. 

“Why do you hide the curls? They’re wonderful.” Greg’s hand falls to rest on the bottom of Mycroft’s neck, and Mycroft can feel the hairs on his arms rise. 

“I cannot walk into an important meeting looking as though I’ve just walked out of the shower.”

Greg’s laugh is glorious, and Mycroft can feel an easy smile come to his lips, a warmth in his chest. 

There’s a slight pressure against his scalp and it takes a few seconds for Mycroft to realise that Greg has just kissed his hair. 

Before he can say anything, Greg is opening a tube of antiseptic cream. “I’ll start with this, might sting a tad. Okay?” 

Mycroft nods silently, and he feels Greg’s fingers run over the cuts on his back. They’re not deep, mainly grazes, but it does sting. 

Greg starts humming under his breath, and Mycroft tries to place the melody. 

Greg pauses to get the tube of arnica, and Mycroft nearly dies on the spot when Greg kneels down before him. 

Greg smirks, biting his lip in amusement and the thought of grabbing the other man by the shirt and pulling him up against his lips briefly occurs to Mycroft. 

“Just for the bruising on the ribs.” Greg murmurs, before coating Mycroft’s skin in the cold cream, Greg picks up humming again and Mycroft tries to focus on the melody. He’s sure he recognises it. 

 

When Greg finishes with the cream, he gets to his feet again and goes to wash his hands, then comes back with the shirt of Mycroft’s pyjamas, as he helps Mycroft into it, Mycroft hums the tune Greg had been just a few minutes ago. 

“I recognise it.” Mycroft mumbles, meeting Greg’s expectant expression. “Give me a moment.” 

Greg chuckles, eyes shining with excitement. He reaches out to trace Mycroft’s jawline gently. 

“It was banned by the BBC…” Mycroft murmurs, he remembers reading an article, “Oh! It’s ‘ _God Save The Queen_ ’!”

Greg’s radiant smile is enough to add years to Mycroft’s life. “Brilliant, love.” 

The loud and sudden rumble of Mycroft’s stomach takes them both off guard. 

“Food, now.” Greg says, “What would you like to eat?”

Greg begins to lead Mycroft out of the ensuite, and there in front of them both is Mycroft’s bed, and Mycroft tries to push away the wishful thoughts that rush through his mind. 

Greg breaks away from Mycroft’s side and comes back with a fleece dressing gown and wraps it around Mycroft. “Alright, love?” 

Mycroft can only nod, his cheeks flushed. Greg wraps an arm around him and they walk down the stairs together. Greg has been here enough times to know where the kitchen is. 

“Tea?” Greg asks, gesturing for Mycroft to sit down at the breakfast table. 

 

Mycroft grimaces as Greg moves towards the fridge. “I doubt there is anything in there, least of all milk.” 

Greg opens the fridge, the light spilling out on his face. He stares into an empty fridge; the only thing there is a tub of butter and a half full jar of strawberry sugar free jam. 

“Right…” Greg murmurs, face falling. He turns to Mycroft, “And is there any food in your freezer?” 

“There may be a pizza.” Mycroft mumbles embarrassed. He’s surprised to see Greg grin in triumph, opening the freezer and taking out the pizza. “Thank the lord.” 

Mycroft stares at him curiously. 

“It’s not pineapple.” Greg laughs, “Can’t take pineapple. So, this alright?” He asks holding up the box. 

Mycroft can only nod, he’s never going to stop being amazed by this man, is he? 

“Great, well I’ll get this ready then.” He moves to fill up the kettle, “Get your collection of herbal teas out for me, love.”

“So all that is needed is a lack of milk and suddenly you are willing to try them?” Mycroft teases as he gets to his feet, going over to his tea cupboard. 

“Excuse you,” Greg says mock-insulted, “I drink camomile _and_ peppermint tea sometimes. I’m not some…peasant.” 

Mycroft meets his eyes across the kitchen and there is nothing more he wants at that moment than to close the space between them both. 

Greg smiles across at him, and Mycroft almost feels weak at how much love he feels contained within himself at that moment. 

He’s been through two days of sheer hell, but Gregory is his taste of heaven. 

 

“I have to admit, this chai tea is pretty good.” Greg murmurs, sitting back in his chair. The pizza only got a little burnt, but it was edible. They had laughed over it and Mycroft found he had an appetite enough to share the pizza with Greg. 

“Only the best.” Mycroft says watching Greg. The _‘for you’_ is unsaid, but Mycroft hopes Greg hears it anyway. 

“So tomorrow,” Greg begins, Mycroft stares at him warily. “We’re gonna do an online tesco shop, stock up the fridge. Maybe get a takeaway. Won’t even need to leave the house.”

“You’re going to stay?” 

Greg chuckles, sitting forward and place his hand over Mycroft’s. “Of course I am.”

“W-what about your work?” Mycroft stares down at their hands and intertwines their fingers, hoping. 

“The thing is, they wanted to assign a sergeant to you. Until everything gets wrapped up.” 

Mycroft stares at Greg in horror. 

“Obviously, I knew how much you would despise that. So, I’m your…bodyguard, I guess.” 

Mycroft watches Greg with disbelief. “You don’t mind?”

Greg shakes his head, “Myc, love.” He squeezes Mycroft’s hand reassuringly, “I would have done it anyway.” 

Mycroft tries to process this information, but his head is so loud. “You have no clothes or…”

“Have a suitcase in my car, don’t worry.”

 

Mycroft stands uneasily by the open front door, watching Greg run out to his car in the wind, taking his suitcase and running back towards the house. 

The light from the house doesn’t do much to appease Mycroft’s fear that someone might be out there, that the shadows the trees are throwing are actually people. 

Greg closes the door, and stands by as Mycroft locks the various locks. 

“Hey, love. It’s all good.” Greg’s hand is warm against his cheek and even though it’s two in the morning, even though he knows he’s going to need sleep he reaches out to Greg. 

“Stay with me?” His voice is shy, a slight shake betrays his nervousness. 

“Of course.” 

“Sleep with me,” Mycroft whispers, seeing Greg’s eyes widen, “I don’t want to be alone.” 

Greg pulls Mycroft into a hug, enveloping him in his strong arms. “You’ll never have to be ever again.”

Mycroft buries his head in Greg’s shoulder, and he can feel Greg’s hand stroking his back evenly, he’s overwhelmed by the comfort he feels in Greg’s arms, the familiar scent of Greg’s aftershave stronger in his position, Mycroft only wants to be closer still.

 

* * *

 

Mycroft stares unseeingly at his ceiling, hands clasped upon his chest. In the ensuite, he can hear the shower run, and Greg going through his bedtime ritual.

Mycroft finds he wants to know everything about it, the thought hits him squarely in the chest. He wants to learn Greg, everything about the man; commit him to memory, worship him. 

 

He thinks about kissing Greg, and what it would be like and finds he longs for it. 

They haven’t kissed yet; but Mycroft can see it in the distance, approaching swiftly.

He also knows with a concrete certainty that Greg will not kiss him tonight. Greg will think that if he kisses Mycroft for the first time now, that he will be taking advantage of the situation, taking advantage of Mycroft’s vulnerability.

Mycroft could argue however that he is perfectly fine, but the dull ache that runs through his body tells him otherwise.

Knowing that Greg knows him so well and how he would have dealt with similar injuries, Greg would sense that he is in pain.

His ribs and stomach ache, horribly real reminders of the many punches and kicks he received over the last two days. 

Really, it was a miracle that no bones had been broken. 

 

He can hear Greg humming, Sex Pistols again. He’s brushing his teeth.

Mycroft only knows the one song by them, such a fuss had been made about it. Some people would still break out in murmurs if it’s played on the radio. 

He feels a smile smile cross his face at the sound, it’s comforting beyond belief to have Greg here with him. 

 

There’s a nervousness that permeates Mycroft; he’s minutes away from sleeping beside Greg, who he has longed for for six years.

Mycroft doesn’t do relationships, he doesn’t do people. But when this man walked into his life and shifted his world around, made it that bit brighter he thought that maybe, just maybe he could make an exception. 

Greg was unobtainable however; married despite a cheating wife, then a divorcee who was always there for him, but Mycroft found he couldn’t muster the courage to say something, anything. 

Mycroft’s stream of thoughts is harsh, regret at the idea of missed time is interrupted by Greg’s voice. 

“Thinking a bit too hard there, you okay?” 

Mycroft’s gaze is taken from the ceiling to a pyjama clad Greg. His heart stutters for a second.

The older man is wearing flannel bottoms and an old tshirt, and he’s watching Mycroft with a worried expression. 

Mycroft finds he can’t quite form the words he needs, so he just nods, a lump in his throat. 

 

Greg frowns, hesitating beside what is going to be his side of the bed. The thought sends Mycroft’s heart racing again. “You sure about this?” 

“Positive.” Mycroft manages to whisper. 

Greg smiles at him with a fondness that makes Mycroft’s chest ache. He gets into the bed and covers them both with the soft duvet. Greg turns on his side, facing Mycroft. 

They’re inches apart and Mycroft lies on his side, just staring. 

“You must be exhausted.” Greg murmurs, the bedside lamps are still on but Mycroft doesn’t want to be in the dark, and Greg doesn’t comment. 

Mycroft nods, he wants to reach out, he wants to touch the other man. 

“C’mere.” Greg breathes, and Mycroft shifts, closing his eyes when he feels one of Greg’s arms curl around his waist, bringing them closer together. 

The heat from Greg’s body is enough to thaw Mycroft’s; to make him feel safe. 

“Are you in pain?” Mycroft can feel Greg’s warm breath ghost across his skin, and it makes the hairs on his arms rise. 

“Aching.” Mycroft mumbles, “But it’s not unbearable.” 

He feels Greg’s arm pull them closer, “Tell me if you need anything.” 

_You, I need all of you._

 

Mycroft closes his eyes, head tucked beneath Greg’s chin. He can hear the gentle murmur of Greg’s heart, it’s unbelievably comforting. 

“G’night, love.” Mycroft feels a light pressure on the top of his scalp and it takes him a few seconds to realise that Greg has just kissed his hair. Mycroft tightens his arm around Greg, closing his eyes. “Sleep well, Gregory.” Mycroft whispers, he hears Greg hum in response.

Mycroft listens to Greg’s even breath, feels Greg’s warmth and tries desperately not to think of other scenarios that could happen between them in this bed. 

It’s been so long since he’s slept, so long since he’s felt the warmth of another person beside him, that he finds himself drifting off in the safety of Greg’s arms. 

 

“Mycroft, Mycroft!” The familiar voice is coming from beside him, but he can’t breathe. It’s as though the air is caught in his throat, he can hear someone moaning, and not for one minute does it cross his mind that it is him. 

“Hey, s’okay. It’s a nightmare, c’mon wake up, love.” 

Mycroft struggles to open his eyes, still gasping for breath. He feels as though the air has been punched from him, he hears echos of gunshots in the distance. 

“Myc, love, wake up, c’mon. I’m here…Greg’s here.” The words are accompanied by the warmth of skin, it blossoms upon Mycroft’s cheek, it’s different than the pain, it’s gentle, comforting. 

“You’re safe.” The voice is closer still, Mycroft struggles still, the darkness behind his eyes is too much to bear. He tries to open his eyes, and the slightest amount of light streams in. “That’s it, love. Open your eyes. You’re safe. I’m here.” 

It takes what feels like hours, but in reality is seconds. His eyes are full of sleep, he blinks wearily, it feels as though it takes far too much energy. 

When his eyes adjust to the muted light of the room, his bedroom, the strangled sounds he was making quieten. 

“Gregory…” Mycroft hears his own voice distantly, he’s searching for Greg’s face. 

“Right here.” Greg’s face comes into view, and Mycroft reaches out to touch the other man. He has to make sure it’s real, and the solidity of Greg in his hands is all he needs. 

 

Greg helps Mycroft to sit up against the pillows, and stays beside him, intertwining their fingers. “Do you want me to get you some camomile tea?”

Mycroft shakes his head, “I apologise for waking you-“

“Myc, it’s not your fault. Everyone has nightmares, ‘specially after what you’ve been through.”

Mycroft shakes his head, almost ready to confess that he has been through far worse, but perhaps it is his age beginning to tell on him; harder to lock it all away. “What time is it?”

“Six, you slept for nearly four hours.” 

Mycroft stares into the distance, his breathing slowly returning to normal. Greg traces circles onto Mycroft’s palm, and Mycroft wants nothing more than this man.

“Do you ever think about wasted time, Gregory?” The words surprise them both. 

Mycroft feels careless, words sloppy. He shouldn’t have said it out loud. 

Greg watches him with a deep sadness in his eyes. “Yes.” 

Mycroft turns his head to meet Greg’s gaze. He feels as though he could drown in those chocolate brown beacons of hope. 

He knows that now is not the right time…but fuck it, when will be the right time?

He could have died yesterday, they both have dangerous jobs; they’ve already lost so much precious time together. Why waste more?  
Something in Greg’s expression changes as though he’s following Mycroft’s train of thought and he raises a hand to Mycroft’s cheek. 

“Gregory…” Mycroft whispers, his voice is shaking. Greg can probably hear his heartbeat racing from where he sits. 

 

Greg shifts beside him, his thumb strokes Mycroft’s cheek, and Mycroft reaches out to pull him closer still. 

Mycroft’s hands go from Greg’s back, then bury themselves in Greg’s hair. They’re both holding their breath, and Mycroft can see certainty in Greg’s eyes; he can see a future for them both. 


	2. Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The feel of his lips against Greg’s is enough to give him a new lease of life.  
> It’s careful and quick. They pull apart slightly, resting their foreheads against each other. Their lives are changing and they just breathe each other in.

They lean forward, closing the distance between them. Greg’s lips are soft and Mycroft finally starts breathing again. The feel of his lips against Greg’s is enough to give him a new lease of life. 

It’s careful and quick. They pull apart slightly, resting their foreheads against each other. Their lives are changing and they just breathe each other in. 

“Kiss me again.” Mycroft whispers, and Greg only smiles a heartbreakingly beautiful smile before their lips crash together again. 

This time Mycroft’s fingers tighten in Greg’s short hair, and Greg leans into him. 

“Okay?” Greg whispers, breathless as they pause for a second. 

“Perfection.” Mycroft murmurs, hungrily pressing his lips against Greg’s again.

 

There is a fire set alight in Mycroft’s blood, burning through his veins. He wants to be closer, he wants and wants and _wants_. 

Greg lets out a short gasp when Mycroft daringly moves to sit astride the other man’s thighs. 

“Myc,” Greg whispers into the air during the few seconds that their lips are apart. 

Greg holds Mycroft’s head in his hands so gently that Mycroft can feel tears fill his eyes despite them being closed. 

He licks his way into Greg’s mouth, deepening the kiss, trying to distract himself from the overwhelming emotions that crowd his body. 

Greg’s resulting moan reverberates through Mycroft’s soul. And Mycroft can only try and pull the other man closer. Greg’s hands find themselves in Mycroft’s hair, and Mycroft shivers at the feel of Greg’s fingers against his scalp. 

Mycroft holds Greg so close that their chests meet, he can feel Greg’s chest rising and falling rapidly and when they break the kiss for some much needed breath, Greg kisses Mycroft’s cheek, and it’s then that he notices the moisture at the corners of Mycroft’s eyes. 

“Hey, Myc? Look at me.”

 

Mycroft blinks, vision blurred from the tears in his eyes. When his eyes focus, they focus on Greg’s face inches away from him.

“Hey love.” Greg’s voice is soft, he wipes away the stray tears that slide down Mycroft’s cheeks.

They’re inches from each other, and Mycroft is lost in Greg’s kind eyes. 

Everything is almost too much; the past two days, convinced he was a dead man walking, the beatings, the terror and then Greg being there. Being everything that he needed. 

Years of longing brought to a head in their kisses. 

 

Greg watches him in understanding, his hands moving in calming circles on Mycroft’s back, holding him close. 

The tears keep coming and Mycroft feels mortified that this is happening now. He can’t control it, he’s drowning in a cascade of feelings. 

Greg pulls him close and Mycroft buries his head on Greg’s shoulder, inhaling the calming scent of the other man; comforting and lovely. 

“S’okay love.” Greg murmurs, “Just breathe with me.”

Mycroft nods his head, focussing on Greg’s breathing. He follows Greg’s lead.

“You’re safe now. Won’t let anything or anyone hurt you.”

Mycroft closes his eyes, he feels as if he could tear in half, but Greg is here holding him together. Like always.

 

Somehow that thought sets off another bout of tears.

“I’ve got you, love.” Greg murmurs, his voice rumbling in Mycroft’s ear. 

Mycroft’s breathing slowly returns to normal. 

“Any better?” Greg asks. Mycroft nods, 

“Thank you.” He whispers, his voice too weak to speak. 

“Always.” Mycroft feels Greg place a kiss atop his head. “Camomile tea?” Greg questions.

Mycroft nods again.

“‘Kay, just have to move Love.”

Mycroft somewhat reluctantly gets off of Greg’s thighs, sitting down by his side.

“Lie down, I’ll be back in a few.” Greg leans forward to kiss Mycroft gently. 

Mycroft does as he’s told, pulling up the duvet around him.

 

Mycroft has a little time to try to get his thoughts in order before Greg arrives back. 

One thing he knows for certain is that if Greg is by his side, there’s a high probability that he will be alright, that life could return to normal. 

Just with Greg. Always. 

Mycroft’s mind has strayed to their kisses when when Greg arrives back. He’s carrying a tray-god only knows where he found that, with two mugs and the fancy tea leaf teapot that Mycroft secretly adores. 

“Would’ve brought biscuits at a time like this, but your presses are empty as can be.” Greg smiles fondly as Mycroft, “And if you keep biscuits in the freezer I’d be incredibly worried.”

Mycroft sits up against a pillow as Greg comes to the bed, carefully placing the tray on the duvet before getting back into bed. 

“Who on earth would ever do that?” Mycroft asks, part horrified. 

Greg laughs and moves to give Mycroft a quick peck on the cheek. “Glad you don’t, love.” 

The easiness between them is so natural that Mycroft feels his heart clench with fondness, part sadness at all the time they could have had like this. 

He brushes the thought away when Greg hands him the mug of steaming tea. When Greg gets his own, he moves closer to Mycroft, their arms touching. 

“Thank you, Gregory.” Mycroft murmurs after taking a sip, and Greg just turns his head to meet Mycroft’s eyes, “Anytime. Promise.” 

Mycroft’s heart skips a beat, and he leans in to initiate another kiss. 

 

Greg laughs against Mycroft’s lips, and Mycroft pulls back confused. 

“Let’s not spill hot tea all over ourselves, might be a tad painful.”

Mycroft can’t help but to chuckle. “That would be a pity.” 

“Mmhm, we can easily sort that.” 

“Oh?” Mycroft asks, raising an eyebrow. 

“Real problem solver me.” Greg’s voice is low and flirty and it sends a heat right through Mycroft. Greg drains his mug of tea and Mycroft follows, before Greg gathers everything and places them all on the nightstand. 

“Now,” Greg murmurs, eyes intent on Mycroft’s face. “Where were we?”

Mycroft can’t help it, he feels the smile spread effortlessly across his face. He reaches out and places a hand on Greg’s cheek, leaning in. 

Greg pulls him close, his hands light on Mycroft’s back, careful not to hold him too tight or remind him of his aches. 

The kiss is slow and gentle to start, presses of lips, light and careful. Mycroft’s fingers make their way into Greg’s hair, pulling slightly. 

Greg makes a noise, deep and low and Mycroft only takes that as encouragement. 

 

Greg mirrors Mycroft and Mycroft can’t help but shiver when he feels Greg’s fingers against his scalp. His whole body is focussed on the other man, and he feels his heart thud in his ears. Mycroft bites at Greg’s bottom lip, pulling at it lightly, teasingly. 

Greg’s fingers tighten in Mycroft’s hair and Mycroft lets out a low moan. He feels Greg’s tongue in his mouth and finally, finally he’s getting what he’s wished for for so many years. 

Mycroft feels a courage, a daring that he doesn’t remember ever feeling and trails his hands down Greg’s back, slowly slipping his hands under the hem of Greg’s shirt; searching out warm skin. 

“Myc.” Greg murmurs against his lips. 

“Hmm?” Mycroft hums, content to search Greg’s skin to want him closer, to want _him_. 

“Okay?” Greg asks, pressing kisses across Mycroft’s cheek.

“More than.” Mycroft whispers, and this seems to send some signal to Greg. His short kisses linger, then trail down Mycroft’s neck. Mycroft can only lift his head, give Greg more of his skin. His cock throbs in his pants, his breathing becoming more erratic. 

How is this so good? 

_Because it’s Greg,_ his mind answers. 

 

“Lie down?” Greg murmurs, his voice low. Mycroft realises that it’s not a command, this is Greg asking him, Greg allowing him to take control of the situation. 

“Take off your shirt.” Mycroft’s voice cracks, nervous energy making itself known. 

Greg presses a kiss to Mycroft’s neck, moving to pull his shirt over his head, carelessly dropping it off the side of the bed. 

Mycroft stares wide-eyed. He could never have imagined the utter perfection that is Gregory Lestrade. 

His chest is broad and lean, covered in grey hair. Mycroft immediately moves forward, pressing both of his hands to Greg’s chest. The hair is soft, not coarse and Mycroft feels the undying need to explore every inch. He glances up at Greg who is watching him with dark eyes, there’s a gentle smile on his face as he allows Mycroft to do what he likes. 

“Gregory.” Mycroft whispers, hands pushing against him lightly. Greg seems to take the hint and slides down the pillow, until he’s on his back, staring up at Mycroft. 

Mycroft carefully, slowly moves so that he’s sitting astride Greg’s thighs, he’s shaking all over and Greg places both hands solidly on Mycroft’s thighs, a reminder that he’s there; grounding him. 

 

Mycroft leans over, lowering himself so that he can kiss Greg. Greg hums in content as Mycroft deepens the kiss. 

He could never get tired of this. He wants to discover everything about this man. 

His hands explore Greg’s chest, his bare skin, astounded by the warmth, how Greg’s breathing stutters when Mycroft presses against him, both their erections meeting. 

Mycroft can’t help the moan that escapes him when Greg bucks his hips, the feel of Greg’s cock pressing against him almost overwhelming. 

Mycroft’s whole body is on edge, the gentle movements of Greg’s hands against his hips are electrifying. 

Greg’s smiling at him, the softness in his eyes makes Mycroft fill with glee. 

Daring once again, Mycroft begins to press kisses down Greg’s neck, his hands leading the way for his mouth. 

Mycroft’s breath ghosts over Greg’s left nipple and Greg shudders, he doesn’t give Greg a chance to say anything before he presses his lips against the nub. As Mycroft experiments with his tongue, Greg’s hand comes up to stroke the back of Mycroft’s neck. 

 

Mycroft slowly mouths his way down Greg’s body, and when he reaches the hem of Greg’s bottoms, he glances up at the other man. Greg’s mouth is open, and eyes dark. A blush has spread across Greg’s face and neck, Mycroft cherishes the sight. 

“May I?” Mycroft whispers, heart thumping against his ribs. It’s been some time since Mycroft was last intimate with someone and he reasons his raising heartbeat as both anxiety and anticipation. 

Greg huffs a laugh, and Mycroft smiles seductively up at him. “‘Course, love.”

Mycroft wastes no time, he easily rids Greg of his bottoms and boxers, and stares in awe at the sight of a naked Greg. Greg’s cock is thick and erect. In the light Mycroft can see that it’s leaking pre-come. 

Greg glances at Mycroft, some nervousness in his eyes, and Mycroft realises he’s just been silently staring. 

“Gorgeous.” Mycroft mutters, voice husky. Greg seems to relax a little, and curses loudly when Mycroft takes his cock in hand. 

Mycroft strokes once slowly, his thumb running over the head, an attempt to spread some of the pre-come, Greg’s hips jerk a little at that, a lengthy inhale. 

Mycroft intends to carefully log every second of this, learn every sensitive spot that Greg has, he never wants to finish learning. 

He leans in, taking Greg’s cock into his mouth, he hears Greg moan, throwing his head back onto the pillow. 

Mycroft gently strokes the fingers of his free hand across Greg’s hip, soothing, whilst he takes Greg deeper into his mouth. Mycroft hums around Greg’s cock, eyes closing, just tasting, he feels Greg shiver and desperately tries to ignore how his own cock throbs. 

 

Mycroft starts slow, listening and learning to how Greg reacts. 

He explores with his tongue, bobbing his head at intervals. He glances up at Greg from underneath his lashes. 

Greg reaches a hand down towards Mycroft, and Mycroft takes it, intertwining their fingers. 

“Oh god...” Greg groans, squeezing Mycroft’s hand, his other hand clutching the sheets. 

Mycroft increases his speed, his tongue laving around the glans, hollowing his cheeks. Greg bucks his hips desperately. He’s squeezing Mycroft’s hand so hard that it’s almost numb. 

Mycroft can only moan around Greg’s cock, this is so fucking good. He feels Greg’s every movement, his own body on edge, even the air in the room against his skin sets his nerves alight. 

“Myc-“ Greg gasps, breath heavy. “Gonna come” He manages to choke out, “Fuck-“

Greg’s body tenses beneath Mycroft, and Mycroft closes his eyes, savouring the salty, bitter taste of Greg. He keeps stroking Greg and swallowing until he knows Greg is finished, Greg’s legs are shaking underneath him. 

When Mycroft sits up, he places his hands on Greg’s thighs, an attempt to hold him. He watches Greg in fascination. 

Greg looks like utter bliss. Mycroft will never forget this. 

 

Greg opens his eyes, reaching for Mycroft and Mycroft is almost overwhelmed by the sheer amount of love that he feels for this marvellous man. 

“Myc,” Greg whispers, voice husky. “Lemme take care of you.” 

Mycroft has almost forgotten about his own arousal, he’d been so drawn into Greg. He feels the heat of a blush cross his cheeks. 

“C’mere, love.” Greg pats the empty space beside him. 

Mycroft moves to lie down beside Greg, heart thumping in his chest, seeing how thoroughly Greg is focussing on him. Greg leans over and caresses his cheek, kissing him deeply. He hums quietly against Mycroft’s lips.

Mycroft moans softly at the feel of Greg’s hand trailing down his body. He’s still in his pyjamas, but he can feel the warmth of Greg’s skin. 

Greg’s hand presses against the front of Mycroft’s bottoms and Mycroft shudders, he can feel Greg smile against his lips. 

 

Greg looks him in the eyes, and there’s a question there. _This alright?_ His eyes seem to say and Mycroft can only nod, “God yes.” He whispers, already breathless. 

Greg grins and leans in to press a gentle kiss to his lips. 

Greg’s hand slips past the waistband on Mycroft’s pj bottoms, and Mycroft gasps when he feels Greg’s warm hand around him. 

Greg moves in to kiss him again, “You’re gorgeous.” He whispers, breath warm against his lips. He moves his hand, stroking slowly and Mycroft grasps at Greg’s shoulder. 

He wants to be naked against Greg. 

The revelation shocks him slightly; he’s never been one to want this. _But it’s Greg,_ a voice in his mind reminds him. 

His hand slips down Greg’s arm, stilling his movements. Greg pulls away from their kiss, “Myc?” There’s worry in his eyes, and Mycroft wants to kiss it away. 

“I want-“ Mycroft whispers, hesitating around how to word it. 

“Anything, Myc. Anything you need, just tell me.” 

“Naked.” Mycroft breathes. He’s surprised when Greg smiles at him, wide and relieved. 

“As you wish.” Greg leans in to kiss Mycroft before sitting up to help undress Mycroft. 

Greg unbuttons Mycroft’s nightshirt, and slides it off his shoulders.

Seeing Mycroft’s bare skin again, Mycroft sees a sad look in Greg’s eyes and feels guilty. 

“I’m-“ Greg takes a breath, making eye contact with Mycroft, “I-m glad you’re here. Alive.” 

Mycroft’s breath catches in his throat, this is the first time he’s ever heard anything like this, and it’s overwhelming. 

 

Mycroft reaches out to Greg and Greg intertwines their fingers and squeezes. 

“Please.” Mycroft whispers, voice strained. 

“S’okay love, let me take care of you.” Greg murmurs before carefully mouthing his way down Mycroft’s body, his lips barely ghosting over the various cuts and bruises. 

Greg’s fingers brush across Mycroft’s silk clothed erection and Mycroft can’t help but let out a short moan.

“Gregory!” Mycroft gasps as Greg slides off his bottoms. 

“I’ve got you.” Greg murmurs, pressing a chaste kiss on Mycroft’s lips, his hand wrapping around Mycroft’s cock again, causing Mycroft to shiver. 

Greg’s touch feels electric; Greg’s other hand brushes across his hip, Mycroft can feel goosebumps rise, skin tingling wherever Greg touches. 

“Okay?” Greg questions, slowly building up a steady rhythm with his hand. 

Mycroft bites down on his bottom lip, nodding, trying not to make a sound. Greg seems to realise this and kisses Mycroft’s cheek, “Make any sounds you want to, love. Wanna hear you.” 

Greg’s thumb circles the head of Mycroft’s cock, and Mycroft cries out at the sensation. He’s close and Greg is focussed on him, dark eyes meeting his own. 

Greg moves to kiss Mycroft’s ear, “Like this or my mouth?” He whispers and Mycroft almost dies at the thought of his cock in Greg’s mouth. 

“Oh god..” He gasps, “Your mouth, please.” 

Greg hums in acknowledgment and wastes no time. Mycroft can’t help but cry out the older man’s name in shock when he feels the wet heat of Greg aroundhim, his fingers curling in the sheets. 

Greg bobs his head a few times, taking him deeply. 

One of Greg’s hands covers Mycroft’s hand, and Mycroft releases his grip from the sheets to intertwine their fingers.

“Oh god…” He whispers, he squeezes Greg’s hand, trying to keep himself still, the urge to buck his hips is overwhelming. 

Greg’s other hand wraps around the base of Mycroft’s cock, warm and tight and Mycroft stutters out Greg’s name. Greg squeezes his hand reassuringly and Mycroft’s sure he’ll never forget a second of this. He’s safe and wanted, it’s overwhelming. 

Greg’s working his cock now with his hand and mouth and Mycroft looks down, his heart jumping at the sight. 

Mycroft can’t help but buck his hips; chasing his orgasm, feeling its intensity building in his body. Greg moans around him and it sounds so filthy and gorgeous that Mycroft cries out his name, his orgasm hitting him like a truck. 

His vision whites out for a few seconds and he can feel Greg stroking his thighs as they shake. He pulls off Mycroft, wiping his mouth, an amused expression on his face, his dark eyes sparkling with glee. 

“Fucking gorgeous.” He murmurs, his voice hoarse. 

When Mycroft starts breathing normally again, he reaches out for Greg. 

 

Greg moves slowly, smirking seductively and Mycroft isn’t quite sure how he’ll survive this. 

Mycroft cradles Greg’s face, meeting his eyes and they don’t need to say anything, it’s in the air between them both. Greg leans down and presses a tender kiss on Mycroft’s lips. 

“Okay, love?” He whispers. 

Mycroft can only nod, still slightly lost for words. 

Greg lies down beside him, gently putting his arm around Mycroft’s waist, his thumb moves in gentle circles on Mycroft’s bare skin. 

“Would you like anything?” Greg asks, nuzzling into Mycroft’s neck, the slight brush of stubble against Mycroft’s naked shoulder feels amazing. 

Mycroft shakes his head, turning onto his side so that he can face Greg, a shy smile on his face. 

“Talk to me love.” Greg murmurs, hand moving to run along Mycroft’s jawline, and Mycroft sees a small hint of worry in his eyes. 

“I-“ Mycroft’s voice fades, unsure what to say that could express truly how he feels at this moment in time. 

Greg smiles softly, continuing to caress Mycroft’s face. “We’ve all the time in the world.” 

There’s something about the statement that makes Mycroft smile, his heart seems to soar in his chest at the thought, at the possibility. 

“I’ve wanted this…for so long.” Mycroft confesses, resting his forehead against Greg’s. 

Greg lets out a small sigh, “Me too, love.” He presses a kiss to Mycroft’s nose, making them both chuckle, dispersing the unwelcome sadness. The thoughts of time lost. 

 

Mycroft wakes with a comforting warmth at his back, an arm draped lightly over his side. 

_Gregory_ , his mind pleasantly reminds him. 

He feels a smile form on his lips almost automatically at the thought, at the reminder of Greg’s presence. 

“Mornin’ love.” Greg’s voice is husky and Mycroft feels Greg’s lips against the nape of his neck, the sensation makes him shiver appreciatively. 

“Gregory.” Mycroft whispers, turning around, letting out an involuntary moan at the dull ache that spreads through his chest and stomach. 

His first sight of Greg is his worried eyes, the soft warmth of his palm against his cheek. “Are you alright?” 

“Just-“ Mycroft shifts uncomfortably, “Aching.” 

“D’you want me to give John a call to check you over?” 

Mycroft shakes his head vehemently, “Please, no.”

Greg’s thumb slowly strokes Mycroft’s cheek, “Painkillers then? Warm bath?” 

Mycroft nods, “In a while…I just-“

Greg’s staring at him with wide, soft chocolate brown eyes. There’s still a hint of worry there, forehead slightly creased. 

Mycroft reaches out to try smooth his finger over Greg’s forehead gently, “I just want to stay here, with you, for a while.” Mycroft murmurs. 

A glorious smile blossoms on Greg’s lips and Mycroft can’t help it, he leans forward and presses a gentle kiss to Greg’s lips. 

Mycroft curls up against Greg and Greg slowly cards his fingers through Mycroft’s hair. Mycroft feels himself beginning to slip away again, surrounded by Greg’s warmth. 

For the first time, he allows himself to fall asleep again. Safe and warm. 

 

The next time Mycroft opens his eyes, he’s tucked under Greg’s chin, Greg is breathing evenly but Mycroft can tell he’s awake. 

“Gregory?” Mycroft murmurs. 

“Love?” His fingers return to Mycroft’s hair. 

“I’m hungry.” The admission comes out quietly, he feels his cheeks burn. 

Greg kisses the top of his head. “We’ll order in food. Just lemme get my phone.” 

Mycroft can’t help the small grunt that escapes his lips when Greg’s warmth disappears as he leaves the bed. 

Greg chuckles, smiling fondly at him, “Be right back.” 

Mycroft can’t help but stare at Greg’s nakedness as he walks over towards his suitcase, searching for a few seconds before coming back again. Mycroft sighs in content when Greg gets back into bed, he can’t help but notice the phone is new. 

Greg seems to catch onto his train of thought, “Private phone; Anthea’s the only one with the number.” 

“Ah.” Mycroft murmurs, slightly confused. 

“My other is off, didn’t want anyone contacting me.” 

Mycroft nods slowly, surprised that Greg is so attentive, but really he should have known that already. 

“It’s midday.” Greg murmurs, downloading a food delivery app. “Any preferences? Most places will be open for lunch.” 

There’s countless places that spring to mind, all places he had believed he’d never eat at again. The thought makes his heart clench a little. 

Again Greg surprises him with a light peck on the forehead, as though he knows the exact thoughts whirling around Mycroft’s mind. 

“That café we go to often. They do wonderful scones, and coffee.” 

“Mhhm. True, lemme see.” Greg types in the name and hums appreciatively. “What would you like?” He asks, handing the phone to Mycroft. 

Mycroft selects a berry scone with butter and jam, a pain au chocolate, and a large latte before handing the phone back to Greg, who then makes his own choices before sending off the order. “Now,” He presses a kiss to Mycroft’s hair, “The tesco shop.” He pulls up another app and looks towards Mycroft expectantly. “What shall we get?” 

 

Mycroft is sitting in the kitchen, wrapped up in a warm dressing gown when Greg arrives with the newly delivered food from the café. “Scone’s still warm, smells gorgeous.” 

Greg’s voice brings Mycroft out of his own thoughts. 

When Greg sits down across from Mycroft with two plates with knives he smiles reassuringly at Mycroft. “Okay love?” 

Mycroft nods uneasily and Greg covers his hands with his own. 

“What’s on your mind?”

Mycroft shakes his head, “Noisy.” He murmurs, pulling the scone towards him. 

Greg squeezes his hand, smiling but with worried eyes. “Was this morning alright? Maybe it was too soon.” 

Mycroft looks across at Greg in surprise, “No! No…it was unforgettable, truly. And I would very much like to repeat it.” 

The tension leaves Greg’s shoulders, and he lets out a relieved laugh. “You can have me anyway you want, love.” 

Mycroft feels a shiver run down his spine, a blush warming his cheeks and Greg only squeezes his hand again in reassurance. 

“Eat, love.” 

Mycroft nods, beginning to butter his scone. 

 

They sit in a comfortable silence in the living room, Greg has just gotten a text from the tesco delivery driver, letting them know he’d be there within half an hour. 

Mycroft’s lying on the sofa, his head in Greg’s lap. Greg’s hands are in his hair, warm fingers stroking his scalp. It’s as if Greg has discovered that this is one of the most comforting sensations for Mycroft. 

After all, Mycroft has only just discovered this fact himself. 

Greg had glanced through Mycroft’s copious CD collection and selected an old Ella Fitzgerald disc, and that plays softly in the background. 

“Gregory?” Mycroft whispers. 

“Love?” 

“Is the Prime Minister alive?” It takes Mycroft aback, how had he not thought about this before now? Surely it should have been one of his first questions. 

He remembers the gunshots and being dragged roughly from the office afterwards, being kicked unconscious. 

He closes his eyes against the flashbacks, flinching slightly at the clarity of the gunshots in his mind. 

Greg’s momentary silence makes Mycroft’s chest ache, he’s vaguely aware that his own breathing is getting faster. 

“No. She’s not.” Greg’s voice is careful, gentle. 

Mycroft tries to calm his breathing. It doesn’t work. 

“Myc, love. Sit up.” The worry in Greg’s voice sends another wave of guilt over him and his body aches as he moves. 

“Look at me.” Greg’s voice is soft, but the worry is still there. 

Mycroft meets his eyes, chest heaving, his body starting to shake. His vision is starting to blur. 

Greg caresses his face, “Breathe with me, darlin’” 

Mycroft nods once, and he reaches out to grasp onto Greg’s arms. 

Greg starts to take measured breaths; out through the mouth and in through the nose. 

Mycroft doesn’t take his eyes off the other man, but the thought plagues him. 

Then another: there were other people; it was bloody Downing Street for crying out loud. 

“Was there anyone else killed?” Mycroft’s voice is almost drowned out by his shallow breaths. 

Greg’s eyes are sad, and Mycroft keeps his eyes on him, waiting. 

Greg shakes his head, “Shot or beaten, but alright.”

A sob breaks free from Mycroft that seems to surprise them both. 

“C’mere.” Greg whispers, pulling Mycroft into a gentle hug, conscious of Mycroft’s ribs and stomach. Mycroft buries his head in Greg’s shoulder. 

“Just...just let it out, love.” 

  
The bell for the gate breaks the silence in the room and startles them both. 

“That’ll be Tescos...I’ll be right back, love.” Greg murmurs, pressing a gentle kiss to Mycroft’s lips. 

As soon as Greg leaves the room, Mycroft’s thoughts begin to run riot. 

Shouldn’t he have seen the attack coming? 

The political climate had admittedly been abysmal thanks to the disaster that was Brexit. 

But a group of people managing to infiltrate Number 10 posing as security? 

It wasn’t really a risk he could have predicted. 

But he _should_ have, his mind supplies harshly. 

After all, wasn’t that what he was there for, in a way?

They had killed the Prime Minister, they could have killed him. 

Why hadn’t they killed him? He had thought his life was over. 

He opens his eyes, desperately trying not to be taken back to those hours. 

The gunshots still echo in his mind. 

One of the things that unsettles him most though, is the fact that he hadn’t thought about work, about anyone else there until earlier today. 

Wasn’t that so inherently selfish of him? 

He hadn’t thought about his job; wasn’t that a failing of the highest form? 

He’d dedicated his life to his employment, striving for the utmost perfection in everything he did. 

However, he finds the thought of returning to a large, lonely office, to stacks of paperwork about this event and the flashbacks that it would no doubt bring terrifies him. 

He feels ill at the mere idea of it, the impending reality. 

Perhaps he needs a break, however long he was not sure...maybe a few weeks. 

He had never bothered with holidays, maybe only staying an extra day in Paris or Brussels here and there after conferences, but he never would have classed them as a proper ‘break’. 

He worries about what will happen between him and Greg from here on out. 

Would Greg be able to come away with him? He wasn’t sure. 

Would things go back to the way it was before? The thought comes like a punch in the gut.

 

The sound of Greg bustling through the front door carrying a bunch of shopping bags manages to drag Mycroft from the hell that was now his mind. 

Closing the door behind him with his foot, Greg places the bags on the floor.

“Right, I think our first task is to make a proper cuppa, yeah?” Greg asks, coming into the sitting room. His smile falters when he sees Mycroft’s pale expression. 

“Myc?” He whispers, coming closer to him. 

Mycroft tries a smile, but he can see from Greg’s expression that he’s clearly not succeeding. 

“I failed.” Mycroft murmurs. 

Greg’s brows furrow, and he holds out his hand. 

Mycroft takes it without hesitation, allowing Greg to pull him up from the sofa. 

When Mycroft is standing inches away from Greg, Greg cradles his face in his hands. 

“Mycroft Holmes.” He says clearly, making sure Mycroft maintains eye-contact. “You are the most amazing, wonderful, and intelligent man. None of this is your fault, it never will be. Despite everything, you are not psychic. Shit happens, it’s life. But none of it is down to you, you have not failed in any way. Don’t blame yourself for this, love. I-“ Greg takes a breath and Mycroft feels his heart stutter worryingly, not quite sure why.

“I’m always going to be here for you...here with you, if you allow me.” 

Mycroft nods, he wants nothing more. “Of course.” He murmurs. 

Greg’s chocolate eyes are impossibly soft and gentle. He leans forward and kisses Mycroft so carefully that Mycroft feels himself sway.

Greg wraps his arms around Mycroft, pulling him even closer. Mycroft easily sinks into Greg’s body, opening his mouth to Greg, letting him explore his mouth. Mycroft feels Greg shiver against him, and it ignites something in him that he hasn’t felt in a very long time. 

 

Mycroft’s not quite sure what he needs, but he definitely needs Greg. 

He can feel his heart thud in his chest, and when Greg pulls back, lips swollen and eyes dilated, Mycroft clings onto Greg’s shirt. 

Greg smiles at him, cheeks flushed. “Okay?” 

Mycroft can only nod, he feels the beginning of a smile tug at the corners of his lips. 

“A nice cuppa will help. Always does.” Greg motions for Mycroft to follow him, picking up the bags of shopping as he goes. 

In the kitchen, Greg flicks the switch on the kettle. He unpacks the bags onto the counter and looks to Mycroft. “Little help? Dunno where everything goes.” 

Mycroft bites his lip and goes to help. 

It’s domestic, it’s comforting beyond belief. 

 

When Mycroft sits down, he watches Greg patter around the kitchen, fetching mugs and the pack of biscuits that they’d ordered. 

It strikes Mycroft that it looks like Greg belongs here. He brings life into this lonely old house. 

The idea of coming home to him, to being with him seems so natural that he wants to kick himself for never acting sooner. 

Greg is humming under his breath again, and Mycroft feels comfortable and safe. 

_Safety and love_ , he thinks, things he never thought he’d feel. 

Greg places a plate full of biscuits on the table, leaning down to kiss Mycroft on the forehead, something so gentle that it very nearly takes his breath away. 

When Greg returns with the tea, he sits beside Mycroft, their legs brushing against each other. 

Mycroft wraps his hands around the mug and he can’t help but smile in amusement as Greg takes a sip of tea and hums in satisfaction. 

“Now that’s what I’m talking about.” He murmurs, “A proper cuppa.” 

Mycroft glances across at him, “I thought coffee was your favourite?” 

“It is, but tea is good too.” 

Mycroft takes a sip, savouring the taste. It’s the perfect temperature, perfect strength and if it wasn’t already possible, he feels his fondness for Greg deepen further. 

“You make amazing tea.” Mycroft murmurs, moving to take another mouthful. 

Greg grins triumphantly, “A handy skill to have, y’know.” He reaches out for a biscuit, dipping it into his tea. Mycroft mirrors him, humming in appreciation. 

He wants to breach the subject, ask Greg to come away with him, but the mere thought of rejection makes his heart stutter. 

But there’s a voice that admonishes him, reminding him of the time he’s wasted by not acting sooner, and that settles it for him. 

“I was wondering,” Mycroft begins, Greg smiles warmly, reaching out for Mycroft’s hand. 

Mycroft takes what he hopes is a calming breath. “Would you like to come away with me...for a while?” 

Greg’s face is open and Mycroft feels a wave of relief when Greg nods. “‘Bout time you took a break, Myc.” He squeezes Mycroft’s hand, “Where were you thinking?”

Mycroft hesitates, “There’s an apartment in Montmartre that I have access to.”

“City of love.” Greg murmurs, meeting Mycroft’s gaze and Mycroft’s almost certain he could lose himself in those eyes. 

Mycroft nods, “I think that it’s appropriate.” Mycroft’s voice is barely a whisper, he continues to stare at Greg, seeking him out. 

A warm smile blooms on Greg’s face, “I think so too.” 

 

Mycroft’s not quite sure how they ended up pressed up against each other by the fridge...something about ice cream perhaps, it doesn’t matter now. 

It’s so natural, the way they move together as though they know exactly what the other man needs. 

Mycroft can’t help the quiet moan that escapes him, and there’s no doubt about it; Greg is smiling against his lips, Mycroft can feel himself smile now too. 

“Bedroom?” Greg asks while they catch their breaths. 

Mycroft cuts him off, pulling him up against him, kissing him so eagerly, the desperation in it must be obvious. He hears Greg moan softly, and Mycroft can only answer it. 

Greg moves with Mycroft, pressing against him. But Mycroft can sense that Greg is giving him complete control; he’ll go where Mycroft does.

Mycroft moves forward, pushing Greg back against the wall, pressing his leg between Greg’s thighs, moving slowly against him. 

Greg’s low moan sends a shock of heat through Mycroft. Mycroft can feel Greg hard against his thigh and he groans loudly. 

Greg’s breathing is coming harsh and fast and he moves his hips, grinding against Mycroft’s hardness and Mycroft feels dizzy, any exposed skin tingles with electricity. 

He never imagined it could be like this. 

 

Somehow they make it to the bedroom, Mycroft hasn’t got a clue how they did it. 

But all that matters, all that there is is Greg. 

His hands roam Greg’s body, slipping under his t-shirt, seeking out warm skin. 

Greg loosens the tie on Mycroft’s dressing gown, managing to push it off his shoulders without breaking the kiss. 

Mycroft moves against Greg, slowly, almost teasingly and he feels Greg’s shiver. 

Greg holds Mycroft’s face in his hands, kissing him eagerly and attentively, as though he’ll never get enough of him. 

Mycroft hopes he never will. 

They break from each other hesitantly, long enough for Mycroft to rid Greg of his t-shirt. He watches Greg, his eyes dark and cheeks flushed. 

“Gorgeous.” He murmurs against Greg’s lips, before trailing his kisses down to Greg’s neck, before sucking on the skin.

Greg tilts his head back, deliberately exposing more of his neck to Mycroft. 

Mycroft glides his fingers down Greg’s back, pausing momentarily before cupping Greg’s arse. Greg lets out a surprised gasp, grasping onto Mycroft’s shoulders, attempting to create more friction between them. 

Mycroft flinches for a split second at the unexpected twinge of pain that shoots across his shoulders. 

And again, Greg is so much more observant than Mycroft has ever given him credit for because he immediately pulls away. 

“Shit, sorry, I didn’t mean to-“ 

“Gregory.” Mycroft murmurs, searching out Greg’s face that is covered in worry. 

“I’m-“  
Mycroft raises his hand, shaking his head. Greg watches him with wide-eyes. 

Mycroft gently caresses Greg’s cheek, “I’m not made of glass, Gregory. You won’t break me.” 

Greg’s still frowning, “I don’t want to hurt you, god knows you’ve had enough.” 

Mycroft moves forward, pressing a soft kiss against Greg’s lips. “You won’t.”

At Greg’s look of hesitance Mycroft tries a reassuring smile. “Come to bed.” 

 

There’s a peaceful lull between them for a few minutes, some soft exploratory kisses, light touches against warm skin. 

“Gregory?” Mycroft murmurs, as the kisses deepen.

“Love?” Greg’s warm breath gusts over Mycroft’s skin. 

Mycroft feels butterflies in his stomach, the request on the very tip of his tongue. 

“Take me.” 

Greg shifts beside him, inhaling deeply. 

“I want you.” Mycroft turns his head to meet Greg’s eyes. 

“Then have me, love.” Greg breathes. He leans in to kiss Mycroft, the kisses are gentle with a hint of urgency. “I’ll give you all of me.” Greg’s voice is barely a whisper, but Mycroft can hear the nervousness in it, the slight shake. 

Mycroft grasps onto Greg’s shoulders, pulling him flush against him.

“And you, Gregory, already have all of me.” He whispers against Greg’s lips, hearing Greg’s breath hitch. 

Greg’s answering kiss is glorious; warm and soft, and the word loving comes easily to Mycroft’s mind. 

Instead of fear it brings a wave of comfort. 

Greg’s hands caress his face, run through his hair, hold him close. 

 

Mycroft can feel his heart thud in his ears, he can’t help but moan. Greg’s hands are all over him; light touches leaving goosebumps in their wake. 

Every touch feels electric and Mycroft runs his fingers down Greg’s back, feeling Greg arch above him. 

They’re both struggling for breath, Mycroft bucks his hips, grinding up against Greg’s cock and Greg’s moan is muffled by Mycroft’s shoulder, where he’s kissing eagerly. 

Mycroft squeezes Greg’s arse, grinning uncontrollably as Greg’s surprised gasp fills the room. 

“Please.” Mycroft murmurs, reminding Greg of his earlier request. 

He’s certain that both of them won’t last too long more, moving against each other, their cocks slick with pre-come. 

When Greg moves back to Mycroft’s lips, Mycroft can’t take the wait anymore. 

He slides a hand between their bodies, wrapping his fingers around both of their cocks, squeezing before slowly moving his hand up and down. 

Greg’s startled cry makes Mycroft’s blood burn through his veins. 

His skin tingles as Greg buries his head on Mycroft’s shoulder, moaning softly, a shiver runs through him as Mycroft starts moving his hand with a certain determination. 

Mycroft turns his head so that his lips brush against Greg’s ear. “I want to come with you inside me. Please Gregory, I’ve only ever dreamt this.” He confesses. 

“Christ, Myc.” Greg groans. 

Mycroft has a distinct feeling that Greg’s worried about hurting him and he bites down on his lip, “Please. I’m not going to break, remember.”

When Greg finally moves enough for them to meet gazes, Greg can only nod, eyes hooded and lips swollen. 

Mycroft sits up to search through the top drawer of his bedside table, a triumphant noise escapes him as he finds a barely used bottle of lube and hands it to Greg. 

Greg’s watching him carefully, and Mycroft can nearly read his mind. He feels the blush rise in his cheeks. “I don’t have condoms…I certainly wasn’t expecting to need them anytime soon.” 

Greg chuckles, but not in a harsh way. Reaching out, he caresses Mycroft’s cheek. 

“I-“ Mycroft begins, “I am required to have regular medicals, despite not being active with another person in years, I’m definitely clean.” He glances at Greg, his eyes hopeful. “I want you, Gregory.” 

Greg moves forward to kiss him, “Had a medical the other week, clean bill of health for me too.” Mycroft can feel the other man’s smile against his lips. “Alright?” 

Mycroft nods, holding Greg close. “Now fuck me before I lose my mind, Gregory.” 

 

Mycroft wakes encircled in Greg’s arms, the warmth comforting beyond belief. His body feels free of tension, relaxed. 

There’s light peeking through the curtains, and Mycroft remembers what happened between the two of them only a few hours ago. Even the thought sends a warmth through his body. 

“Sleepy head.” Greg murmurs, voice deep with sleep. He presses a kiss to the top of Mycroft’s head. 

Mycroft huffs a laugh, “Only me?” He wants to look at Greg’s face, but the way he’s curled up under Greg’s chin prevents him doing so. 

“Mmhmm.” Comes the sleepy reply. 

Mycroft can’t help but grin, it comes so naturally. “I love you, Gregory.” He murmurs, the words seem loud between them, but Mycroft is certain that it’s the right time.

In his position, Mycroft can hear Greg’s heartbeat speed up and Greg moves, loosening his grip on Mycroft so that he can move them both, so that they can see each other’s faces. 

Mycroft is surprised to see Greg’s eyes glimmer in the morning light. Greg’s smiling as though he can’t control it. Mycroft’s certain that he loves every single part of Greg. 

He’ll forever remember the unmasked surprise and joy on Greg’s face.

“Christ, Myc.” Greg leans forward to kiss him softly. “I love you too, you wonderful man.”

Mycroft caresses his cheek, a stray tear runs down his face and Greg kisses it away. 

“I love you.” Mycroft whispers again, knowing he’ll never get used to the words, hell, he never wants to. It’ll be genuine and heartfelt every single time. He’s certain. 

“Thank you for being here.” 

Greg chuckles, “Oh love, I’m always here for you. Always will be. Always.” He grins, leaning into Mycroft’s warmth, kissing him eagerly and carefully. 

 

Greg has made them both pancakes. They’re sitting in nothing except bathrobes beside each other in the kitchen when the doorbell rings. 

Mycroft frowns, stomach lurching with nervousness. 

Greg presses a gentle kiss to his cheek. “It’s Anthea, love. Remember she said she needed to see us?” 

Mycroft relaxes, and he hears the door being unlocked and the familiar sound of Anthea’s footsteps. 

If she’s surprised to see them both sitting glued to each other in bathrobes, she doesn’t show it. Instead she smiles, it’s genuine and satisfied. 

“Mycroft, Greg.” She nods at both of them. 

“Do sit.” Mycroft gestures to the spare chair. 

“Coffee?” Greg asks her. 

She nods, placing her bag down on the table. Sitting across from Mycroft as Greg goes to prepare a french press, not leaving until he’s kissed Mycroft’s cheek. 

Anthea’s eyes are sparkling, she’s watching Mycroft carefully. 

She holds her hand across the table and Mycroft takes it without hesitation. She squeezes his hand before drawing her hand back. “I’m glad to see you doing so well.” She says softly. 

Mycroft can’t help but smile, “Me too.” 

Her smile is fond, proud. 

“Here you go, ‘Thea” Greg murmurs, placing a mug and a selection of biscuits in front of her, which she regards with amusement. 

Mycroft never fails to be surprised at Greg and Anthea’s friendship, but he’s eternally grateful for it. 

“Thanks, Greg.” She says, picking up the mug. “I’m here with good news.”

 

Mycroft feels any remaining tension disappear from his shoulders, when Greg’s warmth returns to his side.

“Great.” Greg replies, “Tell us all.”

She nods, taking a file from her satchel. She places it before her but doesn’t open it. 

“Everyone involved in the attack has been taken care of appropriately.” The vagueness of her statement somehow manages to ease the unsettling feeling that was starting to overwhelm Mycroft again; tendrils of memories, reaching out to grasp at him. 

Greg takes Mycroft’s hand in his and holds it, his thumb stroking Mycroft’s skin, imbuing him with a sense of security. 

“Naturally, there’s a shake up in the cabinet.” She shrugs, “They’re all vying for power. However, as we never had a deputy PM..” She watches Mycroft, her eyes open and intelligent. “Understandably there’s been some…hysteria.” 

Mycroft nods slowly, biting his lip. 

Greg glances between Anthea and Mycroft, “And that means?” 

“Whatever Mycroft wants it to mean.” She answers smoothly. 

Mycroft can feel Greg’s gaze on him, but says nothing. “It’s all yours.” Mycroft murmurs, meeting Anthea’s eyes. 

Anthea raises an eyebrow, amusement on her lips. “Are you serious?” 

Mycroft nods, “I think you’re more than ready, Anthea. Don’t you?”

A slight blush appears on Anthea’s cheeks, but she nods solemnly. “I do.” She watches Mycroft and glances at Greg.

“And you two?”

Mycroft leans into Greg, “We’re going to go to Paris for a few weeks.” 

A fond smile breaks across her face, “You both deserve a holiday. City of love.” 

“We thought it was appropriate.” Mycroft says softly. 

She watches them both, fondness and happiness cloud her eyes. “It certainly is.” 

She slides the folder across the table to them. 

Mycroft gives her a confused glance, but she only nods encouragingly. 

Hoping not to see anything to do with the abduction, he gasps in surprise when he sees a picture of the apartment in Montmartre, a set of keys, and the deed to the property.

Anthea watches them both as they read through the deed, declaring the apartment theirs. 

“I wish you both all the happiness in the world.” She says, her voice soft. 

Mycroft meets her eyes, “Thank you.” The sincerity in clear in his statement. 

She goes to leave, standing up and smoothing her suit jacket. 

“Have the most wonderful time, both of you. I’ll see you both when you get back.” 

Mycroft moves to stand, but she merely shakes her head. “Be with each other, I’ll let myself out.” 

 

Long after Anthea leaves, they lie beside each other on the sofa, a blanket thrown over them. Mycroft’s head rests on Greg’s chest. 

The sound of Greg’s heartbeat in his ear is heavenly. 

He watches Greg scroll through his phone, looking at available dates to fly to Paris. 

They agree on the flight in three days time. 

Once their tickets have come through, Greg kisses Mycroft’s forehead.  
“How about I run us a bath?”

Mycroft hums approvingly. “Only if you join me.”

“Of course.” Mycroft can even hear the amusement in Greg’s voice and he feels himself melt into the man. 

“Safe now.” Greg murmurs. 

It’s true, Mycroft has never felt so secure. 

Mycroft sits up with Greg, moving forward to kiss him softly. “I love you.”

Greg’s smile could light the room,“I love you too, Myc.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading <3
> 
> (I'm lostallsenseofcontrol on tumblr)

**Author's Note:**

> Ah, these two own my heart. 
> 
> [My tumblr](http://lostallsenseofcontrol.tumblr.com/), if anyone needs me.


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